


dog days are done

by feminist14er



Category: Provost's Dog - Tamora Pierce, The 100
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4934263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feminist14er/pseuds/feminist14er
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is Sergeant of the Watch in the Lower City. Bellamy is the Rogue. Naturally, they're also married.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dog days are done

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trash, this is sap - I don't even know.

They’re getting ready for bed, his shirt off, him pulling knife sheaths off every part of his body, her pulling aside her black tunic (leaving it on the floor, which he absolutely _hates_ ), when he drops the bomb.

“Octavia wants to join the Dogs,” he says, offhand in a way that she knows he must have practiced.

She stares at him for a moment, starts cackling. “Cute, Bell. Nice try.”

He glances over at her, waits until she stops laughing. “No, seriously. She wants to be a Puppy.”

She can actually feel her jaw drop. “No. You need to talk her out of it.” She winces, knowing, Goddess bless it, he’s already tried.

He must recognize the look on her face for the chagrin that is, gives her a crooked smile. “I tried. She’s having none of it. She thinks one of us should be on the straight side of the law.”

She swallows, nods. She watches as he slips into bed, thinks it over a bit as she pulls the spikes out of her hair.

When she gets into bed, he shifts into her side, breathes against her. “You’ll look out for her, right?” he murmurs against the skin of her neck.

She cards her fingers through the waves of his hair, nods against him, her nose brushing his skin. 

\--

Clarke has been the sergeant of the Watch in the Lower City for nearly three years, and she’s the youngest person, let alone woman, to hold the position. She got called “Her Ladyship” for so long as a Puppy that it’s stuck, and it’s her title even now. Her Dogs, her Puppies: they don’t call her Sarge, or Griffin. They call her “Her Ladyship”, and it’s been going on long enough that she’s embraced it. It’s rarely spoken in a derisive tone anymore; instead, she hears the reverence her female Puppies give it as they look at her records on their service wall and whisper to their friends that they want to be just like her.

She’s proud of her kennel, of what she’s accomplished in the Lower City, and if she’s a blueblood, well – that’s no one’s concern but her own, these day.

(It’s Bellamy’s concern some of the time, if he’s in a snit, but is has to have been a terrible day for both of them for it to come to that kind of argument).

Still, every time she gets a new batch of Puppies, she usually has to set at least one or two of them straight, their resentment of a female in her position, one who they think has gotten soft shift, sitting behind a desk. It’s no different when Octavia’s group of Puppies walks in, Octavia looking around with wary eyes.

There are whispers as she walks through the muster hall, but Clarke expects she’s used to it. Most people expected her to become her brother’s trusted lieutenant. For her to go straight, leave the Rogue behind is – unprecedented is the most polite word Clarke can think up.

She knows that O can look after herself, has been doing so on the streets for years. She fights cleanly and strongly, Clarke knows, having taught her the initial tricks to get away from unwanted attention, and O knows the rules: no fighting during muster. No fighting unless it’s in the training yard. So when she hears the whispers beginning, starting with Murphy, who’s a known loudmouth, Clarke intervenes.

“Settle down, Puppies. You’ll be assigned your Training Dogs today, and sent out for your first night of real work. What you’ve been learning in training is only the beginning. It is crucial that you listen to your Dogs and obey their orders. Watch and learn, and for the Goddess’s sake, do not come back to me with cracked skulls." 

When Octavia is paired with Wells and Raven, there are sneers on the faces of many of the Puppies. They think it’s a soft pairing, and Clarke hears “It’s because Her Ladyship is fucking her brother,” and she can see Octavia’s ears going red, her eyes narrowing, and before she can do anything rash, Clarke calls out.

“Puppy Murphy. Come up here and say it to my face.” It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before. It’s the easiest thing in the world, to debase a woman by insulting her bed partner, implying she’s a slut. Clarke’s heard it time and time again, whether her partner was a woman or a man, but she’s heard it more than she can count now that she’s married to the Rogue (and there are so many layers to why they hate him, and she knows it starts with his uncertain heritage, the darkness of his skin, and she will be _damned_ if they insult her husband in front of her, especially not to goad her sister). 

Murphy slinks up to her, eyes downcast and face sullen. She raps her knuckles on her desk to get his attention, and his eyes are angry when he meets her cool gaze. “By all means, Puppy, tell the entire room.” She nods. “Go on. They all want to know what you think of my marriage, how I play favorites.”

Murphy turns around, mutters something. Clarke shakes her head, tuts. “Speak up, by all means, Puppy. The back of the room can’t hear you.”

Murphy’s shaking now, and she thinks it’s with rage. She feels a moment of compassion for the boy. Shakes it off. She does not tolerate this sort of behavior, and public shame, while it’s unpleasant, is often the way to ensure that this sort of attitude doesn’t spread.

Finally, Murphy straightens up, yells, “It’s because Her Ladyship is fucking the Rogue that Puppy Blake gets a soft shift.” There are snickers all around the room, but they’re nervous, and Clarke can see that no one is anxious to be in the boots of Puppy Murphy right now.

“That is quite right,” Clarke responds, standing up. “You all know who I am. You’ve seen me in the training yard. I didn’t have a hand in your initial training, but your training as a street Dog is my responsibility. You think I’m fucking the Rogue? You’re damn right I am. I’m also your Watch Sergeant. I worked the streets for five years before that, first as a Puppy, then as a Dog, and for a year as a Training Dog. I watched the last Rogue come and go, saw this one rise to power. Is what he does illegal? Yes. You can form your own opinions about him, about what he does for this city. You can also form your own opinion about me. You can see what I did – it’s on the walls around you. You can say I’m soft, you can say I’m taking bribes, but what you cannot say is that I play favorites. You will work. You will work hard. And you’d better start trusting each other instead of undermining each other, because you’re the only ones you’ve got to have each other’s backs out there.”

She looks out at them, sees she has their attention now. “You don’t have to like me. But you’d better trust me, and work hard for your Dogs. I’ll know if you don’t.” She can see the fierce light in some of their eyes, sees good Dogs in the making. “You’re dismissed. Find your Training Dogs and get to work.”

They file out of the muster hall, Octavia at the head of the pack, hair braided back fiercely, back strong and tall.

\--

Octavia’s first few months as a Puppy go fine, and while she knows Bellamy is anxious for his sister, particularly in her capacity as a Puppy who’s _also_ the Rogue’s sister, he says nothing to her, simply breathes her in when she falls into bed beside him at night, kisses Octavia’s head when she comes to theirs for dinner on Sundays.

It’s when she gets hurt in a riot that she and Bellamy have a blowout fight, and she’s so angry she almost walks out of the house in the middle of the night to go stay with Raven.

For all that she tries to explain to him that O could have been just as easily hurt if she were a rusher for him (more likely, really), he’s fuming over his baby sister being hurt on his wife’s watch, and he can’t seem to let it go. They stop yelling, eventually, but they go to bed on opposite sides of their bed, each of them stiff and tense.

When she wakes up, he’s already gone, although he’s left her tea and oatmeal, and she softens a little towards him then.

She goes to work that evening without seeing him, and it makes her worry just a little bit, to have gone almost twelve hours without having seen him, but all the same; he needs to do his job, she needs to do hers, and sometimes they’re working together, and sometimes they’re working in opposition to each other, but: they always come home to each other.

Octavia’s in muster, and Clarke’s tempted to send her home, but she also knows that Octavia had a good healing, probably slept well, and doesn’t need to be babied. Puppy Murphy has dropped out, but there are still others, less loudmouthed, but resentful of her presence all the same, and Clarke won’t undermine her. Still, she talks to Raven and Wells before she sends them out, asks them quietly to keep an extra eye on their Puppy, and they both roll their eyes. “Remember when you went out with a half-healed concussion your first year as a Dog?” Raven asks. “She’ll be just fine.”

Clarke huffs, shooing them out of the kennel. She knows they’re doing a good job taking care of her, knows that Raven came in with a serious injury, and that’s the only reason Octavia also got injured; still, she worries. It’s her job as Watch Sergeant. 

When her Dogs come in that night, everyone is in one piece, and after the riot in the Lower Market last night, it seems like everything has settled down again. She walks home after saying goodbye to Octavia, opens the door to her house and wanders upstairs to curl next to Bellamy. He’s only just gotten into bed, she thinks, because he turns toward her, watches as she undresses. She feels the heat in his gaze as his eyes search over her body, long patterned to look for injuries on her form. They were together the entire time she was a street Dog, and he patched her up more than once when she wouldn’t get a proper healing.

When she reaches over, blows out the candle, slides in next to him, he curls around her instantly. She wants to stiffen, hold this over his head a little bit longer, but she knows it’s childish, and she doesn’t like fighting with him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, combing through her hair with his fingers. “I know it’s not your fault. I know even the best Dogs get hurt.”

She nods, turns on her side to look at him. “I know you love Octavia, and I know you feel like she’s your responsibility, but you need to let her have some space. She’s a woman grown, and she knows what she wants. She’s doing fine. It was a fluke that she got hurt; you know how careful she is.”

He nods, and his eyes are sincere. “I know. I do. But you understand why I worry.”

She smiles. “Leave it to me. I actually get paid to worry,” she says, before tangling her hands in his hair and bringing his mouth to hers.

\--

They’re an unusual pairing, she knows. She met Bellamy while he was working as a rusher in the last Court of the Rogue; they lived near each other when she was first working as a Puppy, and while she always thought he was s grumpy sort, she could easily see the way he cared for Octavia, and when Octavia came home with fingerprints bruised into her arm, Clarke took her aside and taught her how to escape from the worst grips.

Bellamy had stalked over to her, glaring at her and telling her not to interfere in his sister’s life. Clarke listened quietly, temper simmering, before telling him where he could shove it. 

They got off to a rocky start, she thinks fondly. Dogs and Rushers are occasionally friends, but rarely do long-term pairings between them work out, and Clarke reminded herself of that fact every time Bellamy smiled at her in the months that followed. She pursued a relationship with Lexa, a local hedgewitch instead, until Lexa moved away. She quietly pursued other relationships, but eventually they tapered off, and when Bellamy smiled at her over breakfast, she couldn’t deny any longer that she had strong feelings for him.

And then he killed the Rogue in open combat, and she forced herself to reconsider. She’d been a Dog for two years at that point, was thinking about becoming a Training Dog, and she – she doesn’t like being the sort of woman who worries about her reputation, but it’s almost inevitable in her profession that someone makes comments, and those comments would only be worse if she decided to pursue a relationship with the Rogue. She wouldn’t just be a woman of no reputation; she’d be untrustworthy in her profession. And she loves her job, loved it then, decided it was worth more. Told Bellamy as such.

And yet, she kept managing to wake up in his bed, sated and warm, wrapped up in him, and she couldn’t entirely convince herself to stop.

When she spoke with Commander Kane, the look of unprecedented skepticism on his face almost made her laugh; nevertheless, he continually vouched for her, told her that her discretion was necessary, but that she’d proved herself to be an exemplary Dog, and that she should pursue whatever relationships she chose. It was a rare show of support, and she continues to thank the Goddess for supportive superiors.

She and Bellamy were married quietly at Beltane two years ago; neither can wear rings in public, so Anya tattooed their ring fingers instead. As they waited for the stinging to pass, they linked hands and jumped over the fire, and the love blooming in Clarke’s gut reassured her that, however difficult this life might be, it was the right choice.

\--

When she was promoted to sergeant of the Watch, any discretion she had been exercising went right out the window. She talked to Bellamy about it, of course, but her tattoo is noticeable, and rather than having people whispering about her, spreading rumors about her reputation as a woman and as a Dog, she decided to take them on. 

Dogs have quit, transferred Watches because of who she is, and while it stings, she reminds herself: she trusts the Dogs she has. She wouldn’t trade Wells and Raven for anything, knows she can trust them regardless of what the other Dogs think. She knows that Miller, for all his gruffness, is genuinely (if cautiously) friends with Bellamy, and she knows that he, like her, is defying parental expectations in his job. He knows how much it matters, and he has her back.

She trusts her Dogs, trusts that she and they can train their Puppies, make the city safer.

\--

There’s some moderate unrest in the Court of the Rogue, and Bellamy comes home cut up, and Clarke is _livid_.

“You know, I’d trust that this wasn’t happening if Octavia were on your side,” she mutters as he hisses. She’s stitching him up because he refuses to see a healer, doesn’t trust the healer in the Court right now. They could have gone to the kennel healer, but Bellamy dislikes getting the Watch involved in anything he doesn’t have to, even if he trusts Monty wholeheartedly.

“She doesn’t listen to me, remember? I’m not her keeper,” he’s trying to grin at her through his pain, but it comes out more like a grimace, and Clarke is not amused, grunts her response as she ties off one set of sutures and starts on a second.

It’s when she’s finished patching him up, has covered all his wounds with gauze that she’s resting her head against his chest, and he’s gently playing with her hair that she lets herself finally feel her fear. She’s trying not to cry, trying to keep it together, but he knows, and she knows she’s hiding it poorly, so she gets up, bats his hand away, tidies their kitchen until she’s back under control.

When she turns around, he’s looking at her, and she knows that he can see right through her, is waiting for her to relax again, tell him what’s wrong.

She doesn’t.

She goes upstairs, undresses and gets into bed, curled around herself. When he settles himself behind her, she moves away from him touch.

“Clarke,” he says, and his voice is a little wounded, and she can feel her resolve crumbling, but she can’t totally feel comfortable right now, her tough exterior rubbed down a little too close to her vulnerabilities for her liking.

She hears him sigh, blow out the candles next to the bed, and try to settle despite his discomfort.

\--

When she wakes in the morning, Bellamy is curled around her, and this time she doesn’t move away.

The thing is, she _knows_ the both work dangerous jobs. She doesn’t as much these days, mostly supervises her Dogs, trains Puppies, works the desk. They decided, when she was offered the promotion, that it would be a good idea in case they decided to have children. Still, she misses being on the streets, and every now and again, when one of the other Watch Sergeants (one of the ones she trusts, at least; usually Echo or Jasper) needs extra hours, she’s happy to patrol. She _likes_ working the streets, but she also loves pushing her Dogs to be better.

It’s now Bellamy’s job that is truly dangerous. It’s difficult to think of being the Rogue as being a _job_ , exactly, but Clarke knows that’s exactly what it is. He functionally manages the Lower City, serves as a landlord to many, deals with the illegal activities of the flower sellers and the Rushers, smuggles goods in and out of the city. She knows that he refuses to smuggle human cargo, unless it’s to a free land; he’s got an honorable streak a mile wide, and she’s worried that it’s going to get him killed.

And really, she knows that it is. Rogues don’t die of old age. They die in combat when another Rogue wants to take over, thinks the old Rogue isn’t doing a good job anymore. She knows that’s how Bellamy became Rogue because she was there to watch it happen (which her Dogs decidedly do not know).

She doesn’t want to be a widow in ten years, but – she’s not sure what the alternative is. She and Bellamy haven’t really discussed it, but she thinks about having a child with him, thinks that there’s no way she’d be willing to do it knowing she might have to raise their child without him.

These are the fears that plague her when he comes home and talks about unrest in his Court. These are the reasons she flinches away from him, even now. She doesn’t feel like she can give him her whole heart; still knows he has it.

\--

She’s on patrol with Octavia, after she’s become a full Dog, when O brings it up. “Bell’s said you’ve been weird lately.” She looks at Clarke out of the corner of her eye. “You wanna talk about it?”

Clarke looks at her sister-in-law. She loves Octavia, but since she became a Dog, there’s been some level of weirdness while they try and sort out their new dynamic. She is Octavia’s superior, even while she’s her sister. She trusts O’s discretion, but – still.

All the same, she hasn’t really talked to anyone about it, and it’s been nagging at her for months. “We’re thinking about having a baby and I’m afraid that Bellamy’s going to get killed.” She winces at her own abruptness, but looks up when she hears O laughing.

“Yeah, okay, that seems like a lot,” Octavia says when she sobers up a bit. “Have you talked to him?" 

Clarke shakes her head. “I mean, we’ve talked about the kid part of it, but it’s a little bit hard to say, ‘Bellamy, I’m worried you’re going to be killed as the Rogue and leave our kid fatherless, can you quit the only thing you love?’ It just doesn’t seem fair, when I won’t quite being a Dog.”

O tilts her head, considers. “You’re right that Bell loves being the Rogue, but I’m not sure he loves it more than you, or more than the thought of having a family with you. You never saw me when I was really little, but he’s fucking awesome with little kids. If he’s talked with you about having kids, it’s because he really wants them.

“I don’t know what to say about the Rogue, though. He – you’re right. Traditionally, the only way for him to leave is with a lot of stab wounds.” Clarke flinches. “If there’s anyone who can find a way around that, though, it’s Bell.” Octavia looks at Clarke, compassion in her eyes. “You need to talk to him. He’s really worried.”

Clarke swallows past the lump in her throat, nods. She reaches out to squeeze O’s hand. “Thanks,” she says. “I probably just needed someone to tell me was I being dumb.”

O nods, brightens. “Can we be done with this part and go see if we need to smash any skulls in?”

Clarke shakes her head, grins. “You take a little too much pleasure in this part of the job.”

\--

Clarke stews for another week, finally makes breakfast on a weekend when she doesn’t have to be in the kennel. Bellamy comes down the stairs, his hair messy, and Clarke feels a surge of affection for him. She loves him, sometimes feels overwhelmed by how much.

His eyes light up when he takes in breakfast on the table, asks “What’s the special occasion?”

Clarke fidgets for a minute, twisting her hands in each other. “I was hoping we could talk for a little bit,” she says, offering a tentative smile.

He looks at her and nods, although his face is grimmer than it was when he came down. Clarke rolls her eyes. No good ever comes of saying those words, so they might as well get started. She sits down, serves them each some of the nice oatmeal and fruit, sips at her tea.

Bellamy regards her from over the lip of his cup, before setting it down. “I rather thought you’d go first,” he says softly, and if that doesn’t make Clarke feel like a child, she doesn’t know what does. She wants to be petulant about it now, but tries to hold in the instinct, long-learned by baiting her noble parents.

She sighs instead. “I – I don’t feel like there’s a good way to say this, and I’m sorry for that in advance. I don’t feel like this is a fair thing that I’m about to ask, but I’m going to ask it anyway, and I would be very happy if you would truly consider it.” She can see the look of alarm growing on his face, so she rushes ahead.

“When you came home injured, it got me thinking about what happens when someone tries to take the Rogue from you. What if we have children? Am I supposed to raise them on my own? I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do that, Bell. I don’t want to do that without you.” She can feel her lip quivering, tears collecting in her eyes. “I don’t want to ask you to give up something you love, something that you’ve worked for, to do what? Become a tailor? What if you resent me for asking you to do something that I wouldn’t do? But I can’t stand the thought of knowing you’re going to die, and that’s what’s going to happen, and – I just can’t.”

He sets down his mug with a clang, wraps his arms around her, lets her tears leak out into his shirt. She generally prides herself on being unflappable. She deals with injured Dogs and Puppies daily, deals with the grief and anger of their families, helps to manage the Lower City and all its vagaries. She has an endless capacity of calm patience for that, but this is her husband’s _life_ , and she does not have an ocean of patience for threats to it.

He pets her head quietly, lets her cry herself out before pulling away from her and wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Clarke, I do not love being the Rogue more than I love you. I’m not going to give it up – “ Clarke starts to shake her head. “No, let me finish. I’m not going to give it up until I have a successor.”

Clarke looks up at him now. “But – that’s not how the Rogue is passed,” she says.

Bellamy shrugs. “I’m hoping to give it up in a year or two,” he says. “If I can groom Anya well enough in that time, I think she’ll be accepted, and the transition will be smooth. It won’t be perfect, you’re probably right. But I think it’s doable. And she knows the risks she’s taking in doing it, wants it anyway.” He brushes her hair back from her face. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when I’m done, but it can be raising our children, if you want, or I can figure something out. I’m not going to leave you, Clarke. Not until I have to.”

She smiles then, buries her head against his chest. “And you don’t resent giving it up?”

He shrugs again. “When we got married, I figured one of us would have to give something up, and you’re too noble-born to come to the wrong side of the law,” he teases. “It’s not the life I want for our children, Clarke. I mean it. I did it because I was good at it, because it kept food on the table when Ma wasn’t able to make sure O had enough. I like it well enough, but not enough to risk not seeing our children grown.”

She holds him against her then, kisses him soundly. “Thank you,” she says. “I know what it means to give it up. And I’m lucky to have you supporting me.”

\--

It’s not at as simple as all that, but when their son is born a year later, Anya is Queen of the Rogue, and Bellamy’s been living straight for three months, and if life isn’t uncomplicated, Clarke knows they’ve been unreasonably lucky, thanks the Goddess for a good man, a healthy child, and good family.


End file.
